


Por la gracia de Dios

by ShyGirl1918



Category: 15th Century CE RPF, 16th Century CE RPF, Isabel (Spain TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Family Dynamics, Family Loss, Iberian Union
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-02-10 01:50:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18650473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShyGirl1918/pseuds/ShyGirl1918
Summary: When Margaret of Austria delivers a living daughter in 1497, and Miguel de Paz escapes death in 1500, no one can imagine the long-term changes that will be wrought on Iberian history.





	1. A New Hope

_December 8th, 1497_

_Alcalá de Henares_

_Madrid, Kingdom of Castile_

 

The chapel in the Archbishop of Toledo's palace was silent as a crypt, save for the quiet prayers of its sole occupant. Shafts of winter moonlight slanted through the stained-glass windows, reducing the room to sharp abstracts of black and white.

The Succession of Castile and Aragon was hanging by a thread. It had been two months since Prince Juan, her beloved son, her angel, was called home by the Lord. Isabel of Castile had never felt her age before, but in the moment she and Fernando had received the missive from Salamanca, she'd felt as if she had aged twenty years. Juan's widow, the Archduchess Margaret of Austria, was now delivering her first grandchild... But Isabel felt no joy at the eminent arrival. No, she felt sick with worry. Should mother and child both perish, God forbid, succession rights would fall to her eldest girl in Portugal, then Juana and her Hapsburg husband should Isabella also join her brother in Heaven. Fernando would rather damn his own soul than see their crowns pass to their foreign son-in-law, and frankly, Isabel shared the sentiment....

 _No_ , Isabel rebuked herself silently. She should not think such thoughts in God's house. It was best for Margaret and her child to pray on their behalf. And so she had been, for the last 17 hours, ignoring the pangs of hunger, ignoring the ache in her knees from the cold stone floor. The verses flew from her lips, almost manic.

"Holy Mary, Mother of God, preserve in my daughter the heart of a child, pure and transparent as a spring. Obtain for her a simple heart that does not brood over sorrows; a heart generous in giving itself, quick to feel compassion; a faithful, generous heart that forgets no favor and holds no grudge.

O glorious St. Margaret, filled with compassion for those who invoke you, I cast myself at your feet and humbly beg of you to take my present concerns which I recommend to you under your special protection.. Preserve Her Highness from danger and from the excessive pains accompanying childbirth, and shield the child which she now carries, that it may see the light of day and receive the purifying and life-giving waters of baptism through Jesus Christ our Lord. Cease not to intercede for me until my request is granted. Good St. Margaret, pray for us and obtain our request. Amen. **  
**

Hail Mary full of Grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed are thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and - "

" _Majestad_?"

Isabel's eyes flew open, the rosary ceasing to flutter in her hands. " _Si_?" Her tone was deceptively calm as she rose and crossed herself, the beads clinking softly between her fingers. Beneath her thick chemise and robes, her heart pounded a war anthem against her sternum.

Carmen, her most trusted midwife of old, stood before her, wizened hand clenching a walking stick. She was nearing 70, God bless her, but despite the old woman's advanced age her mind was as sharp as ever. After almost twenty years of tending to Isabel's obstetric needs, she knew better than to mince words around the Law and Order Queen. "Her Highness the Princess of Asturias is safely delivered of a daughter. Granted, the child is a little early, but she's in perfect health otherwise."

All the breath left Isabel's body. A heavy weight seemed to lift off her shoulders. For a moment, she stood transfixed before slowly tugging down her veil as she turned back towards the alter. Graying, reddish-gold tresses shone in the dark, turned to beaten silver by the lunar rays. A silent benediction was poised on the Queen of Castile's lips as she bowed her head, tears shining in her blue-green eyes. Truth be told, she and Fernando had been praying for a grandson, but even a living girl was better than a stillbirth or a short-lived child.. The union of Spain, everything that she and her husband had sacrificed and worked towards, would no longer be in vain. By the grace of God, Aragon, Castile, and León would be safe...


	2. A Fly in the Ointment

_December 16th, 1497_  
_Residence of Philip, Duke of Burgundy_  
_Flanders, Hapsburg Netherlands_

__

The blizzard howled against the shuttered windows, blanketing the courtyard and grounds in a sea of white. Whilst the fire in the hearth crackled cheerfully, its warm glow did little to brighten the dark mood of 19-year-old Philip von Hapsburg.

__

Scowling into his wine goblet, the Duke of Burgundy's bluish-gray eyes bore intently at the missive clenched tightly in his fist. In the three days since its arrival, he had read and reread the letter so many times that it was now completely flat. He couldn't believe it. Even now, he still couldn't believe it...

__

"My love?"

__

Philip's head snapped up at the intrusion, his knuckles turning white in his agitation. "My lady," he greeted coolly, giving a curt nod in the direction of his wife.

__

18-year-old Juana of Castile stood hesitantly at the threshold, slender hands clasped before her waist. "Is it news from my lady mother?" She nodded inquisitively at the letter. The fire's light seemed to cast a halo on her beautiful auburn hair, painted a rosy cast on her fair skin. Philip was unmoved by the sight.

__

"From your father," he corrected stiffly. "My sister has given us a niece. Both are quite well, or so I'm told."

__

"Thanks be to God," Juana murmured reverently, crossing herself instinctively. "What did Margaret name her?"

__

Philip tilted his head back, gritting his teeth slightly as he felt a dull pressure begin to build behind his eyelids. "The child was born the day of the Immaculate Conception," he replied by means of explanation.

__

"Maria..." Juana smiled faintly. "A fine name for the future queen."

__

That was the final straw. Like a snake, Philip hurled himself from his chair, eyes blazing as the goblet shattered in the hearth. The flames shot up in response to the wine washing over the burning logs before dying with a hiss, smoldering with a few orange embers.

__

"'The future queen,'" Philip seethed. "A mere babe at the breast."

__

"She's your sister's child," Juana shot back. "My brother's flesh and blood, God rest his soul."

__

"Even a princess can die in the cradle."

__

Juana would've struck him, but Philip was too quick. He grabbed her arm before her hand could make contact with his face, twisted her wrist till she cried out in pain. The bones creaked disconcertingly beneath his fingers.

__

"Listen to me," Philip hissed, their faces mere inches apart. "She may be my sister's child, but who can say she will live long enough to wear the crown? Who can say your father's kingdom will accept a mere infant as heir? Even if she's your niece, her father was _weak_. Time will tell."

__

But Juana refused to be cowed. Rather than apologize for her boldness or submit meekly to his tirade, she met Philip's gaze evenly, her emerald gaze blazing furiously. "You forget: she is also the granddaughter of the greatest monarchs that Europe has ever known, great-granddaughter to the Holy Roman Emperor. My niece will not be a mere catspaw. Aragon will accept her, as Castile did my mother, as León accepted my parents. If God wills it, I may succeed her, but for now, she will be Princess of Asturias and Girona. _Without question_."

__

Jerking her arm from his grip, she stalked to the door, skirts and hair whirling behind her.

__

"You would pay homage to an infant?" Philip shot at her retreating back.

__

Juana turned slowly, a wry smile tugging at her mouth. "Gladly. Even as much as I love you, I fear the crown would suit her head far better than yours."

__

With a sardonic curtsy, she left.

__


	3. The Best Laid Plans

_June 30th, 1498_

_Seville, Kingdom of Castile_  
  
Sunlight filtered through the corridors of the Alcazar, painting the walls and ceilings in a gilded light. The summer breeze wafted at the open window of Infanta Maria’s nursery, ruffling the silken curtains.  
  
Despite the beauty of the day, the atmosphere in the Alcazar was somewhat somber. Today marked what would have been the Prince of Asturias’ 20th birthday. The one-year anniversary of Juan’s death was rapidly approaching.  
  
At six-months old, little Maria was already proving to be a strong and sturdy baby; through small at birth like her father had been, her constitution had already proved not to be as delicate.  
  
Maria tugged at Margaret’s unbound hair. It tumbled and shuddered and bounced back, mesmerizing the tiny child. Margaret smiled gently, stroking the baby’s soft, unblemished skin. Maria was to Margaret the most beautiful creature in all the world; she thanked God for her. Like Juan, Maria’s hair was more a strawberry-blonde than Margaret’s own chestnut-brown, but its tone was an ashier hue than his had been. Maria’s eyes were still the vivid cerulean of infancy but Margaret hoped, from the bottom of her heart, that they would never change. To see Maria's eyes was to see Juan in some way alive again. It was a marvel she couldn’t help but wonder at; one which did not dull despite the months that had passed since her birth.  
  
A faint knock at the door. Margaret glanced up. One of her ladies entered, bobbed a curtsy. “ _Su Alteza, Su Majestad el Rey._ ”  
  
Margaret steeled herself as her ladies filed out for the King to attend upon his daughter-in-law in private.  
  
“How fares our dear Infanta?” Fernando inquired, smiling towards the tiny bundle in Margaret’s arms.  
  
“She is enjoying playing with my hair,” replied Margaret, laughing softly. “She loves to watch the curls bounce.”  
  
Fernando smiled, coming slowly around the bed towards her. His grin was a proud, grandfatherly one. “Curious, already,” he began softly. “Perhaps, in time, she will be as clever as her grandmother.”  
  
“And as gentle as her father,” Margaret replied absently.  
  
For a few moments, a pronounced silence fell after Margaret’s words, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable one. It was Margaret who broke it first.  
  
“So, Majesty, to what do I owe the unexpected pleasure of your company? I know you love Maria well, but it’s unlike you to visit her nursery without prior announcements.”  
  
Fernando shrugged carelessly. “I’ve been making plans with the Queen for our little granddaughter. As my son’s wife - I mean, widow - you at least have the right to hear them.”  
  
“You are most generous,” Margaret mused softly.  
  
“As you are undoubtedly aware, our eldest daughter Isabella is with child. Should she deliver a boy, he can be betrothed to Maria. Their union will bind Spain and Portugal - and keep them out of your family’s reach.” Though Fernando’s voice was placid at the beginning of his pronouncement, unbridled loathing seeped into the final five words.  
  
Margaret couldn’t pretend to be surprised; Fernando had made no secret of his hatred for Philip, and that resentment transferred by extension to the rest of her family. What could she say?  
  
Nothing. She knew he was right. As much as Margaret loved her brother, even she had to concede that Philip would make a terrible king...


	4. A Prince for Portugal

August 23rd, 1498  
Zaragoza, Kingdom of Aragon

The heat was stifling. It clung to the evening like incense, balmy and oppressive. Fireflies softly hovered in the air, casting winks of golden light around the balcony. That, combined with the glow of the full moon on the banks of the Ebro, would have made a beautiful sight... If not for the damned mosquitoes.

29-year-old Manuel of Portugal smacked his neck in distaste, a smear of blood visible on his palm as he withdrew his hand. Fernando suppressed a smirk with great difficulty, but only just.

"It's been too long," Manuel remarked, absently wiping his hand on the inside of his sleeve. "Are firstborns usually this taxing?"

"You'll get used to it. Just wait till your third child." Despite the levity of Fernando's words, he too was anxious. Isabel had always found her pregnancies and childbirths to be difficult; the deliveries of their last two daughters, Ana* and Catalina, were especially laborious. It had been too long. Almost... What, 36 hours?

From behind the closed door at the end of the corridor, a muffled shriek echoed off the stone walls. Manuel flinched, crossed himself. His pallor was evident in the moonlight.

Something had died in Isabella with her first husband. Prince Afonso, Manuel's nephew, had never been strong. He'd perished in a riding accident, only 15-years-old. She hadn't taken widowhood well, practically starved herself to death, believing that she was being punished for some grievous sin that escaped her attention. She only married Manuel on the condition that the Jews were expelled from Portugal.

".. Are you sure she's not carrying twins?" Fernando joked hesitantly. In retrospect, he deserved the death glare that met his words.

Another three hours ticked by, painfully slow. Finally, one of the midwives approached them, a squirming, bloody bundle of linen cradled in her arms. Fernando heard Manuel's breath sharpen.

"A boy, my lords."

Manuel's fingers fluttered hesitantly over the round cheek, still sticky with a film of amniotic fluid. The child stirred, but made no sound. Not even a cry. He swallowed thickly around a lump in his throat, eyes bright. ".. My.. The Queen?"

"She's very weak, lost a lot of blood. The babe hadn't turned properly, but with God's help, we were able to avoid removing him from his mother's belly -"

Fernando cut off the midwife's explanation with an impatient wave of his hand. "Answer the king, woman. Will my daughter survive?"

"Y-yes," she squeaked. "We only just managed to stop the hemorrhaging, but you mustn't disturb -"

Manuel swept past her without a word, holding his son close. Fernando shook his head in exasperation, then followed his son-in-law.

Maria now had a husband. That was one thing, at least...

 

*OTL's Maria of Aragon. I conflated her character with her stillborn twin to avoid confusion with Maria, Princess of Asturias.


	5. Of Regencies and Rebellions

"By all accounts, 1498 was the _annus horribilis_ for Queen Isabel. Despite the political and dynastic gains embodied by her infant grandchildren, securing the fortune of Infanta Maria was fraught with tension and inconsistencies from the outset.  
  
The betrothal between Maria of Aragon and Miguel of Portugal was signed in Burgos, within days of the latter's baptism. In early September, the papal dispensation was acquired. The contract stipulated the wedding was to occur in 1514, when the bride and groom were both 16, with their household split annually between Portugal and Castile and Aragon for a period of six months.  
  
Isabel, for her part, was less than enthused at the terms. Chief among her fears was the prospect that her beloved _angelita_ would be prohibited from visiting her domains, which in turn would be ruled by proxies; a point that Isabel reiterated several times during the course of the negotiations and was ultimately resolved by King Manuel's publicized oath to adhere to the contents of the marriage contract and recognize Maria's independence.  
  
By Michaelmas, the King and Queen had returned to Zaragoza, immediately opening the Aragonese Cortes and presiding over the discussions of succession, which promptly revealed itself to be a heated topic. Aside from Fernando and Isabel, the deliberations were also witnessed by prestigious families of noble lineage, including but not limited to the Alagon, Azlor, Bardaxi, Calasanz, and Erol. All five houses rejected Isabel's proposal to recognize Infanta Maria as heiress or accept the Dowager Princess of Asturias as Regent. As an Archduchess of Austria by birth, they argued, Margaret von Hapsburg would forever be classified as a foreigner; hypothetically unable to understand or respect Aragon's customs and local administration. By contrast, Castile had not only named Infanta Maria as rightful heiress, but accepted the proposed joint regency of Fernando and Margaret alongside a council of trusted nobles in the event of Queen Isabel's untimely death.  
  
Isabel's fury at this defiant display was further exacerbated by the Cortes' candidacy of Fernando's bastard son, Alonso de Aragon, as heir presumptive; alternatively, in the event of the King's death, as Lieutenant General of the realm. It was no secret that the Queen despised her husband's infidelities, and his by-blows by association, and the full wrath of Isabel's temper was nearly unleashed at the announcement.   
  
After nearly two weeks of protracted debate, the King and the Cortes had finally come to an agreement but the terms of the compromise greatly chagrined Isabel. Although Margaret would be accepted as Regent, it came with the caveat that she would be assisted by the Archbishop Alonzo until Infanta Maria came of age and was deemed ready to participate in governmental affairs.  
  
On All-Hallow's Eve, in a grand ceremony befitting her rank at La Catedral del Salvador, Infanta Maria was finally invested with the traditional titles of the Aragonese heir, though she was substituted by her grandfather during the vows as a result of her minority. As the solemnity came to a head, it was declared that the Infanta would present herself before the Cortes in Zaragoza and receive their oaths of fealty upon her sixth birthday."  
  
\- Elena Esteban, Excerpt from _The Wyvern and the Eagle: An Abridged History of the Iberian Union_.


End file.
